


The Soldier, the Lion Headed man and the man with the head of a Bull

by Sheffield



Series: Mithras [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:44:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7465662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheffield/pseuds/Sheffield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How would an ancient god respond to Moriarty?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soldier, the Lion Headed man and the man with the head of a Bull

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out my "John is Mithras" idea had another iteration in it. Warning for gratuitous shoehorning of ancient archetypes into places they probably don't want to go.

John nodded, Sherlock fired, and the bomb exploded.

There was that millisecond when Sherlock knew they were all going to die, but it seemed worth it because they were together, and they were taking Moriarty with them. And then, things were a bit... Unexpected. Reconstructing, later, it seemed John had raised his hand and everything… froze. 

"Traditionally I prefer underground, but this will do nicely," John said. They still stood on the broken floor of the swimming pool, but all the flying debris from the bomb explosion simply stayed in the air in a fine arc above their heads, as if they were standing in an upturned pudding basin made from broken shards of the exploded swimming pool building.

"First things first: snipers."  
Out of the shards, bodies started falling. One. Two. Three. Half a dozen. 

Moriarty's face did something very strange but then he froze, like the shards, like the sky, and it was as if John and Sherlock were the only things alive in the universe. 

"Now. This will be strange, but go with it. Lestrade!"  
Lestrade came bursting through the wall of shards into the empty space, his eyes wild. He met Sherlock's gaze a moment and then dipped his head and started to pull at his hair. What was happening? He looked as if he was wrestling with himself, like that idiotic werewolf movie John had made him watch a few weeks ago.

And then Sherlock dipped his own head and started tugging at his own hair. What was happening to him? What was happening? John??

Mycroft Holmes walked calmly through the wall of shards and looked around quizzically. John smiled at him. "The Mysteries will be Observed" he said gently. "That was my mistake last time. The Mysteries require a witness. None of the others will remember, not exactly, but I lay it on you, Mycroft Holmes, to Witness. And remember."

He took a deep breath. "Syndexioi," he said, and Anthea, Molly and Mrs Hudson stepped through the wall of shards, between Sherlock, Mycroft and Lestrade, forming a ring of six figures around the central figures of John and Moriarty. AS if in a dream, they each turned to their neighbours and linked hands.

"That's right," John said quietly. "Now you are joined by the handshake: that is the meaning of syndexioi." Mycroft made as if to speak but John simply said "listen."

He waved his hand, and Moriarty started to move. "What is this?"  
Molly, Anthea and Mrs Hudson each took a step forward and an unearthly noise came out of their mouths, like screaming, like shrieking, like the heavens were opening.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Moriarty screamed back. He reached for his gun, but Lestrade, now in the guise of Arimanius the lion-headed, clawed it out of his hand. The women shrieked their unearthly call again. "Sherlock, you…" Sherlock stepped forwards, the bull's horns growing from his temples, his face changing as he took on the aspect of the Bull, the beloved of Mithras, strength and food and source of all his power, endlessly consumed and restored, the beginning and end: he tossed his head and the horns on his head gored Moriarty; left, right, left again. Moriarty lay on the ground and the women screamed their unearthly scream a third time. Morarty disappeared for a moment in under the trampling hooves of the bull and the paws of the lion, the stamping feet of the maenad women. And then there was silence.

"Well," John said quietly. "I had a bit more of a speech lined up for Mr Moriarty there, about how soldiers don't make war on women and children and, being a soldiers' god, I take exception to his methods, but I think the point is made. Now for the clear up, and I don't think it's going to be pretty."

Mycroft raised his hand tentatively. John looked at him. "I could… deal with that. If you like."  
"Already covered, thanks." Molly, Anthea, Mrs Hudson – Maiden, Matron, Crone – stepped back through the wall of shards and vanished. The lion-headed man was recognisably Lestrade again, eyes glazed, and he, too, stumbled backwards through the debris and out of sight. John put his hand on Sherlock and the bull-headed man crumpled to the ground and became Sherlock again.

John looked at Mycroft. "You need to step out. You will find us unconscious in the ruins. Lestrade will have been very brave, to look for us in such an unstable place after the bomb went off, without knowing whether there will be another. He should get an award or something. Now. Step back."

Mycroft knew there were impossibly floating shards of broken tile suspended in the air behind him, but he felt a gentle pressure to move and didn't want to turn his back on the Power that was John so he stepped back… and back… and back… and found himself standing in the darkness outside a collapsed building. There was a moment of silence and then…

Noise! Chaos; shrieking alarms, sirens, heavy equipment moving into place. He was standing next to his car, Anthea sitting calmly in the back tapping on her blackberry as if nothing unusual had happened. "Report," he said simply.  
"Inspector Lestrade went into the building before the heavy equipment arrived. Part of a wall collapsed on him, but he was able to reach your brother before he was injured any further. The fire crews are freeing them both now: the prognosis is good."  
"And John Watson?"

They both looked at the collapsed building, the rubble, the chaos. It seemed impossible anyone should have survived, let alone Sherlock, let alone Sherlock AND Lestrade. How could there be three?

It was an hour before they uncovered him, another hour before they stabilised him enough to be moved, and another three days before he recovered consciousness.

If anyone thought it strange that Mycroft Holmes arranged for the Ivy to deliver beef wellington to the private hospital where Sherlock, Lestrade and John Watson were recovering, they never mentioned it.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt# 11: Threesome


End file.
